Page 36 of Secrets Along the Shore
I waited,tapping my foot on the station floor until an officer escorted me to a meeting room. Its walls were white and bare. The floor was a cold linoleum. The table in the center of the room had as much aesthetic atmosphere as a stainless steel frying pan.
“Want some coffee?” the officer asked with as much ambition as a cat had to move out of a sunny spot.
“No, thank you.”
He nodded and left me there to continue tapping my foot. It was probably five minutes, but it might as well have been five hours. Finally, the door opened and Reuben walked in, followed by Dickson.
“Hello, Noa.” She smiled.
I liked Dickson. I was glad she was here. I had a feeling she might take my epiphany more seriously than Reuben. Mostly because it was all based in theory rather than fact.
“What’s up?” Reuben appeared concerned and I waved him off.
“I’m fine. Nothing’s happened.”
They exchanged glances.
Dickson pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning her elbows on the table. “Did you remember something?”
“No.” I shook my head. Adjusting in my chair, I wished I had accepted that cup of coffee if for no other reason than to have something to do with my hands. “I have a theory.”
“A theory?” Dickson raised her brows.
“Yes.” I nodded, then I reached for my canvas bag. It carried my wallet in it, a pair of sunglasses, a water bottle, and now, my spiral notebook. Before I’d left work—after telling them all I wasn’t feeling well—I’d printed off a few articles from the online newspaper.
I pulled out my notebook and retrieved the folded pages I’d stuffed inside of it.
“Look.” I laid a photograph of Sophia on the table. Then one of Rosalie. Finally, one of Lillian. “Three women. Three separate ages. Totally unconnected except they’re all from Whisper’s End and they all had dead snakes under their windows.”
“Okay?” Reuben dragged out the word. “We knew this.”
“I figured out how they are connected.”
A pregnant pause followed as I watched Reuben and Dickson’s faces.
“How?” Dickson asked.
“Sixty-four years old.” I pointed at Lilian’s image. “Forty-eight years old.” I tapped Rosalie’s. “Eighteen.” My finger landed on Sophia’s photo.
“Not to be rude, but spit it out, Noa.” Reuben sounded irritated.
He’d failed if he was sincerely tryingnotto be rude.
Dickson kicked Reuben’s leg under the table.
He scowled.
I ignored the entire transaction and continued. “Sometimes, the people who are the most dangerous are the people closest to you.”
“That’s cynical,” Dickson observed. “But unfortunately, true.”
“What are you saying? You think we need to look at someone who was close to these three women?” Reuben’s question was offered with not a little bit ofwe already did thatadded.
“No.” I shook my head. “I think you need to look at the three people closest to thekiller.”
“We don’t know who the killer is,” Dickson stated.
“I know. But his actions reveal what he’s most affected by.” I redirected their attention to the women’s faces. “Three generations. Right here. Granted, not related, but think of it as if these women represent three generations of women closest to our killer. Grandmother.” I slidLilian’s photo toward Reuben. “Mother.” I pushed Rosalie’s toward him as well. “And sister.” I finished with Sophia’s. “We need to be looking for someone who comes from a dysfunctional home. Someone who experienced abuse from their grandmother and mother and probably a sister. Or maybe the sister played a different role and that’s why we’ve found Sophia already. That may be why he killed her so impulsively.”
